Part 22: London, I love you.
“There!” Frank jabs the blue, sketches the lofty towers with a pressed finger; “Oh!” Outside the soaring constructions of Canary Wharf whip past, rubbing palms and chafing council flat views. Low-lying stars, clustered light years away from kitchenette thirty-centimetre sinks. Spangled dreams where Columbians parade, fired-up and fuelled-on then burnt read more